


Backyard Box Bitty

by Dale (Bouncyballblue)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Chihuahuas, Edgy Sans (Undertale), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, POV Original Female Character, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Underfell Sans (Undertale), bitty - Freeform, bittyfighting, corndogs, it's not gonna be that sad don't worry, mustard, prompt, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncyballblue/pseuds/Dale
Summary: There's something in your backyard.
Comments: 91
Kudos: 132





	1. The first chapter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetax/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something in your backyard.

_This fic is a response to[this post](https://theskeletongames.tumblr.com/post/190839641832/backyard-box-bitty-youve-been-hearing-strange) by the magnificent _ [ _Poetax_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetax/profile)  
  


Well. That's not what you expected. 

Three weeks ago, you received the box of gourmet apples you ordered from the neighbor's kid during their school drive. When you were a kid you remember selling magazines but this year the school district chose some weird mail-order fruit company. You didn't really want the apples but it was the cheapest thing in the catalogue and you felt like you had to buy SOMETHING. The apples arrived in a heavy wooden box which added to the "gourmet-ness" of the product but also left you with a box you had no idea what to do with. You set it in the back yard with vague intentions of dealing with it tomorrow. For three weeks it has been sitting there, growing moss and waiting for the day when you become a responsible adult who actually does things they say they will. 

Today when you get home from work you let your dogs outside as usual. One of them walks over to the box and sniffs it, then starts growling. Soon both dogs are at the box, barking like little maniacs at what you can only assume is a squirrel or something inside. You corral the dogs back in the house and walk over to the box, grabbing a badminton racket off the ground on the way. You really need to clean up your yard. Whatever is in the box needs to leave. Your dogs are probably too dumb to catch it but you'd rather not get a noise complaint called on you for excessive barking. As you get close, you hear small scratching noises coming from inside the box. Cautiously, you reach out with the racket and lift up the edge of the lid. A strange "eep!" noise comes from inside. Huh. You tap the side of the box with your foot, trying to scare the animal into running away. Nothing jumps out and you hear what sounds like... heavy breathing? Is the squirrel hurt? Is that why it hasn't run away? You get a little closer and peek inside. There is a little skeleton creature shivering in a corner of your gourmet apple box. It looks at you with two large, terrified eyes... sockets. A pinprick of red light wavers frantically in each. A jaw full of pointy teeth is clenched tight and its entire tiny body is shivering. You drop the lid back, startled to say the least. Is that a bitty? You've never seen one in person. You know about them from the news but no one in your town sells them. To your knowledge, no one nearby has one. They were supposed to be intelligent, right?

"Uh... Hello?" you say to the box.

"J-just go away!" a surprisingly deep voice answers.

"Uh...You're a bitty, right?"

"I ain't nothin'! Go away!"

Huh. What are you going to do? Whenever you find lost pets you make an effort to catch them and make sure they get back to their families safely. But this is a bitty. It can talk and everything. Catching it like an animal seems sort of...inhumane?

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing! Fuck off!"

"Woah, little guy, I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help! Just... just open the lid and go away!"

"Uh...okay." You're reaching for the box when a thought strikes you. "Wait, what are you gonna do? Where are you going to go?"

"None of your fuckin' business!"

"Are you lost? I can give you a ride home if you want."

"NO! Let me the fuck out!"

"Not until I know you're gonna be okay."

"BULLSHIT! Let me out right the fuck now!" A red light suddenly glows around the lid and it starts to open. Apparently this is one of the bitties that can use magic. You put your foot on the lid, holding it down. Thumping noises come from the box. "Let me out, asshole!"

"I can help you get home! It's not safe for you to be running around out here by yourself."

"Fuck you! I don't belong to you! I don't belong to anyone!"

"Wait, what? Aren't you a bitty?" The bitty shouts words you can't quite make out and you feel something hit the lid. "Easy! Don't hurt yourself!"

"Then fuckin' let me out!"

"Did you run away?"

"Yeah, and I ain't fuckin' going back! You're not taking me back!"

"I'm not going to make you do anything."

"Bullshit! You're keeping me in this fuckin' box!"

"Yeah, well, cause if I let you go you're going to run away and get hit by a car or something."

"I ain't that stupid, lady!"

"If you're all by yourself how are you going to get food and stuff? I have a lot of delicious junk food, if you're hungry."

"I don't want your fuckin' food!" Another thump on the lid.

"Can you just calm down for a minute?? What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"You're gonna fuckin' take me back or sell me or throw me to your fuckin' dogs, I don't know! There's all kinds of sick shit humans do to bitties."

You feel a knot form in your gut. "Was... was someone hurting you?"

"Ha! Yeah, but only when they weren't busy makin' us fight each other! You humans are sick, you know that?!"

"Jesus Christ." God, people suck. "I'm... I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Tch... I'm fine."

"Are you sure? If you're hurt I have bandages and things. I took a first aid class like ten years ago and I still remember some-"

"I said I'm FINE, idiot! Bitties ain't like your shitty human bodies. We can heal from almost anything."

"Oh, okay. Good." You really want to help this little guy. It takes you a moment to think of what to say. "Look... I get why you don't trust me. It sounds like you've been treated really bad by some really bad people. And I'm so, so sorry. On behalf of all the good humans out there, I'm so sorry. There are some real twisted fuckos in the world. I do animal rescue and I've seen things that make me want to commit murder. One of my dogs is a rescue from a dogfighting ring."

"I ain't a fuckin' dog."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that! Sorry. I just mean, you can trust me. I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. Please just... come inside and talk. Let me give you some food."

For a few seconds the box is silent and you hold your breath.

" ... Alright, if I eat your damn food, after that you let me go?"

"Promise," you say. Hopefully you can get him to trust you enough to stay. You pick up the entire box, keeping a finger over the lid.

"Th-the hell?!"

"Going inside, gimme just a moment." You walk over to the door and are faced with the problem of turning the doorknob. Carefully, you balance the box on your knee and let go with one hand. Your dogs are waiting just inside and as soon as you open the door they jump on you enthusiastically, knocking you off balance. For a moment the box rocks dangerously before you grasp it with both hands again.

"SH-SHIT!"

"Sorry! sorry!" You say as you hurry inside, not daring to let go again to shut the door behind you.  
  
  
 _(Art by[CuddlyQuiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyQuiche/pseuds/CuddlyQuiche))_  
  
You set the box down on the kitchen table and open the lid to an angry, glaring bitty. His red eyelights burn into you.

"I'm sorry..." you say sheepishly. You feel bad for almost dropping him, but also more than that. Trapping him in a box wasn't very cool of you, even if it was for his own good.

"Tch... So, you gonna let me out or what?" 

"Ah, yeah. Here." You reach into the box, holding out your hand for the bitty to stand on. He scuttles frantically away from you. 

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" He snarls. It sounds like he's actually growling.

"Oh...sorry," you say, feeling like a jerk. You look around for another way to get him out. There's a sweater on the chair next to you. You take it and hang it over the edge of the box. The tiny skeleton watches you carefully. You take a few steps back. The little guy has clearly been through some bad shit and the best thing to do is give him space. A part of you is disappointed that you aren't going to get to hold him but you probably deserve that after basically kidnapping him..."bitty-napping" him?

After a couple seconds a small white skull appears over the lip of the box as the bitty climbs up the sweater. He hops down, landing with a soft thump on some papers you left on the table.

"So...uh...this is my house," you say awkwardly. The skeleton looks around.

"Wow. What a dump." At the sound of his voice, the dogs look up at the table. Mila stands with her front paws on a chair, trying to see where the noise came from. The bitty takes a couple nervous steps backward.

"Off," you say, and gently push her away from the chair with your leg. "What can I get for you? I've got chips, ramen, frozen corndogs, apples...uh... Sorry, what do bitties eat?"

The little red lights move in a circle as the bitty rolls his eyes. "The same stuff as you, moron." 

"Oh. Okay, good. Anything sound good?"

"What's... a 'corndog?' " 

You grin. "You've never had a corndog? They're pretty great. Not great for you, but pretty great. But these are actually vegan so it's a little better."

"Are you serious?" 

"Hey, they're good! They taste pretty much the same. I figure real hot dogs barely count as meat, anyway." You're hungry too so you get two corndogs out of the freezer and put them in the microwave. You set the timer for two minutes.

"So... What's your name?" you ask the bitty. He looks surprised. 

"My name?"

"Yeah. Do...do you not have a name?"

"Tch... course I got one. Maybe I just don't feel like telling you."

"Oh. Okay. Well, my name's Y/N." The bitty just looks away and there's an awkward silence as the microwave hums in the background. You try to think of something to ask. Probably not a good idea to question him about how he got here or what happened to him.

"What's your favorite color?"

"What?"

"Your favorite color. Mine's blue. Fun fact, blue is the most common favorite color in the world."

"That's dumb. The hell do you have favorite colors for?"

"Oh c'mon, you're telling me there's no color you like better than the others?" 

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Hmph. Well... I guess red's not bad." 

You fail to stifle a small laugh.

"What's so funny?!" He snaps.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, it's just that it makes sense, you know, since your eyes are red."

"And that's funny...?"

"Heh. Well, it caught me off guard and I have a weird sense of humor."

"Tch." The bitty kicks at some papers on the table with his tiny bony foot. "I guess... I guess black ain't so bad, neither."

"Red and black, huh? Those were my high school's colors."

"Your what?"

The microwave beeps. Your dogs, having smelled the deliciousness being cooked, follow you eagerly as you carry the corndogs to the table. The bitty eyes them warily. 

"Ketchup or mustard?" you ask as you grab the bottles from the fridge.

"What? Oh. Mustard." 

You squirt out a pile of mustard for the little skeleton and mustard and ketchup for yourself. You pick up your corndog and dip it in both.

"Well, bón appetit!"

The skeleton gives a sharp toothed grin. "Don't you mean, _bone_ appetit?"

"Booo," you say, though you can't suppress a smile. You take a bite, relieved it's not too hot. You don't want the bitty to burn his tongue. Wait. Does he have a tongue? From what you can see, he's just bones. You watch as he tries to pick up the corndog, which is almost as big as him. He grabs it by the stick and swings it in to the mustard, spinning it around a few times to get as much mustard as possible. His mouth opens much wider than you thought it would and he takes a huge bite; his sharp little teeth slicing easily through the corndog.

"The fuck you lookin' at?" he snaps and you realize you've been staring.

"Sorry. Uh... So, what do you think?"

He shrugs. "...'s okay."

At that moment, temptation overcomes Mila and she jumps on a chair, bringing her eye-level with the table and the little skeleton on it. The second drops his corndog and jumps back, swearing. 

"No! Off!" you scold and move the dog back on to the floor. "You know what, let me put the dogs in another room," you say. You pull on their collars as the dogs resist being taken away from the delicious food smells. "I'll be right back." You lead the dogs into the bedroom and close the door. You walk back to the kitchen. "Sorry about that. I swear, I've tried to train..." Your words die out as you realize the bitty is gone. Both corndogs are missing and so is the entire bottle of mustard. Shit.


	2. The Smooches Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bitty done effed up  
> EDIT 6/21/2020: Made a gif of my fav scene. The dog is our foster dog, Lilac, and she is available for adoption in San Francisco once she finishes recovering from a pelvis fracture and amputation (you can't see it, but she's missing her rear left leg). Don't worry- she got lots of treats for being such a good actor.  
> UPDATE: Lilac was adopted! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my mom, for whom it was written as a Mother's Day present and upon whom Margrecia is loosely based

  
[full resolution and more bitty art](https://imgur.com/a/cMoX7oC)

The bitty had been on the fence, literally and figuratively, when he saw a dog dish full of water in your yard. It was not a savory option but he was desperately thirsty. He gathered his magic and blinked to the ground. Thankfully the aluminum bowl was pretty clean and the water looked somewhat fresh. The bitty picked out a dead bug and dunked his head in as far as it would go. The water was wonderfully cool on his dry, sun-baked skull. He drank in big, satisfying gulps, feeling the water disappear into the void at the back of his throat. He was tipping the bowl over to get the last drops when the door to the house flung open and two dogs ran out. The bitty dropped the bowl and frantically looked for somewhere to hide. There was a lidded wooden box a few feet away. He ran to it and used magic to lift the lid just enough for him to jump in. One of those stupid dogs must have seen him, though, and the bitty watched with panic as a big wet nose snuffled at the cracks in the box. Then the dogs had started barking and you had found him.

\---

The bitty is a little conflicted about escaping while you were in the other room. You hadn't been as awful as the other humans he'd met and, though he'd never admit it, that vegan corndog with mustard was one of the best things he'd ever tasted. Outside once again, he looks for a way out. You've done a frustratingly good job at dog-proofing the yard. The perimeter has no obvious weak points.  
There! The bitty runs over to the fence opposite the one he came down off of, dragging half a corndog and the entire bottle of mustard with him. Attached halfway up the fence is an old wooden bird feeder. To the disappointment of local wildlife, it's empty; refilling it is somewhere on your to-do list. The feeder is just big enough for a bitty to stand on top of. Sadly, the mustard bottle can not come with him. Reluctantly setting it aside, the bitty stuffs the rest of the corndog in his mouth, gathers his magic, and blinks up to the birdfeeder.

\---

You are microwaving another corndog for yourself when your phone rings. It's your next door neighbor, Margrecia.  
"Hey! What's up?" you answer.  
"Oh Y/N are you home right now??" you can barely hear her over a frenzied chorus of high pitched barking but Margrecia sounds distressed.  
"Yeah. Are you okay? Do you need my help?"  
"Yes, yes, please come over! Smooches found one of those little skeleton things and she has it under the bed!" There's the sound of something crashing and Margrecia yelling at her dogs, "Twiggy! Get off of there!"  
"I'll be over in twenty seconds," you say, already sprinting out the door.  
Finding Margrecia's door unlocked, you let yourself in. As always, the house is overflowing with tiny dogs. A year before you moved in next door, Margrecia experienced a very difficult divorce. She found comfort and purpose in taking care of homeless chihuahuas and chi-mixes. You can see at least a dozen of them from where you're standing but you know from experience that there are more. Most of the dogs are barking in the direction of the master bedroom. Several notice your entrance and take exception to it, making you the new target of their ill-contained ire.  
"Margrecia!!?" you yell, trying to be heard over the uproar. A moment later, a middle-aged woman shuffles out of the bedroom. She moves towards you as quickly as she can while avoiding stepping on the swarm of dogs orbiting her feet.  
"Y/N! Oh thank goodness. I just don't know what to do! Smooches caught one of those little skeleton pets! She took it to her stash under the bed and I can't get to it!" Margrecia grabs your hand. She seems almost about to cry. "The poor thing is screaming, it's so scared!"  
"Is it hurt??" you ask as you hurriedly wade through the sea of pocket dogs. As you pass into the bedroom you can barely make out someone shouting amidst the barking.  
"Bitty guy??" you yell. You push a few dogs out of the way and lie down to look under the bed. It's too dark to make anything out but you hear a familiar voice coming from the floor near the wall.  
"GET OFF ME, YOU FUCKIN' RAT DOG!"  
You shout, "Hold on! I'm coming for you!"  
"Y/N! HELP! I DON'T WANNA DIE LIKE THIS!"  
You take out your phone and turn on the flashlight. In the light you can see a pile of dog toys stashed in the corner, jealously guarded by a snarling chihuahua you can only assume to be Smooches. And pinned under the angry little dog is the bitty who stole your mustard bottle. Smooches is lying half on top of him and has both paws pushing down on his head, forcing the bitty's face into the carpet. With his one free arm the bitty is slapping blindly at the dog's face but can't twist around far enough to reach it.  
You are desperately trying to think of what to do when your ears are blasted by an exceptionally loud squeaky toy. Margrecia has crouched on the floor next to you and is unhelpfully squeezing a chewed up plush frog toy right next to your head.  
"Smooches, look! Mommy has Mr. Slimy, your favorite!" Apparently Mr. Slimy's time as favorite is over because Smooches only responds with more growling. You wrack your brain for a way to get the bitty out of there. From experience, you don't think you can persuade Smooches to trade her captive for food. To a possessive dog, nothing is more desirable than that which they have and you want. However, there is that pile of toys next to her...  
You go for it. There's barely enough space for you to fit under the bed. You crawl forwards on your belly, trying not get claustrophobic. Smooches eyes your approach hostilely, growling with all the primal malice of a tiny dire wolf. The bitty continues to slap at her, shouting muffled threats into the carpet. Just before you grab a toy from the pile, Smooches lets go of the bitty and lunges for your hand. Small teeth clamp down on your fingers and you cry out.  
A small glowing red bone catches Smooches in the back of the head, knocking her grip loose long enough for you to pull back your hand. The bitty is on his knees, arm extended towards the dog.  
"No! Don't hurt her!" you shout. The bitty looks at you with equal parts astonishment and outrage.  
"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"  
Smooches is down but not out. Recovering from the blow, the tiny terror wheels on the bitty, but he blinks out of existence and her jaws snap shut on empty air. You feel a slight weight on your shoulder and turn to see the bitty perched on you.  
"Go, idiot!" he yells.  
You quickly worm your way backwards out from under the bed. As soon as you're out, you grab the bitty from your shoulder and hold him up out of reach of the other dogs.  
"HEY! THE FUCK!" he shouts, wiggling against your grip.  
You hear Margrecia gasp.  
"Good gracious!" she cries. You let her help you up. "You did it! Oh, bless you!" She leans down to look under the bed. "Bad girl, Smooches! No treats tonight!"  
You turn your attention to the bitty sitting cupped in your hands. "Are you okay? You hurt?"  
He doesn't look at you. "I'm fine."  
"Are you sure? That was pretty rough. Smooches doesn't have very sharp teeth cause she's old but-"  
"I said I'm fine! Let's just get out of here!"  
You nod and make your way to the front door. Before leaving you call out to Margrecia, who is still in the bedroom trying to quiet down the dogs. "Hey Margrecia, I'm gonna take the bitty back to my place."  
As you close the door you hear Margrecia say in a sing-song voice, "Dat wuz a lotta exkitement! Who wants da good foodz??"


	3. The Smooches Incident - Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You provide some substandard medical care and the author provides some adorable fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Removed the "one-shot" tag because apparently this is a thing now. I can't promise consistent updates but there will be at least five more chapters.  
> 

_The following illustration belongs to the previous chapter and is a perfect example of why my other project is[live action puppets,](https://underpuppets.tumblr.com/) not comics._

You don't say anything on the walk back to your house since it's obvious the bitty doesn't want to talk. You content yourself with staring at him when he's not looking. He said he wasn't hurt but you're not convinced. His clothes are soaked through with slobber and he's cradling one arm. Smooches must have caught and carried him under the bed in her mouth. From what you can see, the bitty is made entirely out of bones; maybe bones are tough enough to stand the chihuahua test?  
  
You head into your house, careful to shield the bitty from your excited dogs. He watches nervously and leans into you, away from them. For lack of a better idea, you head into the bedroom and lock the dogs outside, much to their disappointment. You walk over to the bed and start to lower the bitty on to it, then pause.  
"You sure you're not hurt?"  
"I said I'm FINE!" he snaps.  
He struggles out of your hands and falls the remaining distance to the bed. He lands on his side and screams, "FUCK!" and clutches his left arm.  
"Oh my God, are you okay??" you say as you reach towards him reflexively. He notices your hand coming and struggles to his feet.  
"Don't touch me, asshole!" You pull your arm back, feeling a little stung. The bitty glares at you angrily but his expression is pained. His little red eyelights are dilated and it almost looks like there are tears in the corners of his eye sockets. Can skeletons cry? You'll Google that later. Right now, this little guy needs help. You take a deep, calming breath and sit on the floor so you're eye level with the bitty.  
"I'm sorry. I won't touch you, promise," you say. "But you're clearly hurt. Just tell me what I can do to help. Is your arm broken?"  
The bitty looks at his arm and tries to move it. He flinches. "I don't know. Maybe."  
"Can I take a closer look?"  
"...Fine."  
You lean over so your face is only about ten inches away. The first thing you notice are several dark cracks on the bitty's left forearm. A translucent red liquid is seeping out. It looks like both the radius and the ulna are completely broken. You're not sure how the forearm is still attached but you're not going to question it. In addition to the break, there are a several lighter lines on the bones. Are they scars from previous fractures? You look at his other arm and legs and see more lines. There are smaller scratches everywhere. It seems like too many to have come just from rough treatment by Smooches. Shit.  
"Yeah, that looks broken alright," you say. "We need to stabilize that with a splint right away. Stay here, I'll be right back." You run out of the room and gather supplies as quickly as possible, terrified that you're going to come back to find his entire hand has fallen off.  
  
[](https://imgur.com/a/P1Y8csT)  
 _(Art by[CuddlyQuiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyQuiche/pseuds/CuddlyQuiche))_  
  
You give a sigh of relief when you re-enter the bedroom and see the bitty still in one piece. You sit down in front of the bed, toothpicks, toilet paper, and scotch tape in your lap. He looks at your makeshift medical kit with critical red eyes.  
"Are you serious?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I know it's not really professional but it should do the trick. Uh... I don't think you can put on the splint with just one hand, though... Will you let me help you?"  
The bitty sighs. "Yeah, sure, wrap my arm up with toilet paper. It's not like my life can get any worse."  
"Hey, look on the bright side; at least it's not your right hand."  
"I'm left handed, idiot."  
"Oh. Uh..."  
The bitty holds out his arm. "Just try not to pull my fucking arm apart, okay?"  
With that vote of confidence, you get to work. Overall, you do a good job wrapping up the break, though the bitty does grimace in pain at a few points.  
"There," you say after taping several toothpicks around the joint, locking the arm in an extended position. "Okay, immediate danger gone. Now what? Do you need to go to a doctor? Or...uh...a vet?"  
The bitty frowns and looks down. "....Damn it," he says defeatedly.  
"What?"  
"You're...gonna have to... (grumble grumble)." He says the second half of the sentence too quietly for you to hear.  
"What?"  
He hides his face in his good hand. "UUUGHH I hate this! Why did I have to be made a bitty?!"  
"What's wrong?"  
He stands up. "Nothing! I don't need help. It'll heal on its own."  
"Really? Then what's with-"  
"Just leave me alone." The bitty disappears and reappears on the floor. He walks under the bed, out of your sight. Well, if he won't tell you how to help him, you'll find out on your own. You sit on the bed and pull out your phone. You search "How to heal a hurt bitty." You find a promising looking article from bittyvet.com. As you read, your eyes go wide.  
"Holy shit. You just need to be cuddled??"  
"WHAT?! NO!" the bitty shouts, reemerging from under the bed.  
"It says on this website, 'Bitties are designed to thrive in human company. Their artificial souls rely on love, which they absorb from contact with their owners. Bitties can recover rapidly from almost any injury as long as they have a human to draw love from. One of the major draws of bitties as pets is the absence of expensive vet bills. If your little buddy is injured, just give him some extra cuddling and he'll be fully healed in no time.'" You look up from your phone. "So you just need to suck love energy out of me or something?"  
"That's not how it- UGH!" the bitty groans and disappears back under the bed.  
You consider your next move. According to the website, bitties absorb love best when sleeping next to their owners. There's an adorable infographic that shows a human lying down with several bitties asleep on top of them. The caption reads, "Bitties prefer to sleep on top of their owners, as this provides the strongest contact. A single human is capable of charging multiple bitties at once."  
You have an idea. You yawn as conspicuously as possible. "Well, suit yourself," you say. "All this amazing first aid work has made me really tired. I'm gonna take a nap. Feel free to suck my love energy or whatever. I won't notice anyway because I'm a REALLY heavy sleeper."  
You lie down and close your eyes. After a few minutes you hear the shuffling of tiny feet on the blankets and feel something poke you in the arm.  
"Are you really asleep?" the bitty whispers. You don't respond. He pokes you again. When you don't wake up he seems satisfied and settles down on the bed next to your stomach, lying down so he's leaning lightly against you. You can feel the warmth of his small body through your shirt. It's impressive that your heart is still pumping blood even though it's completely melted.  
  
When you're reasonably sure he's asleep, you pull out your phone and continue reading from bittyvet.com. "Due to the nature of manufactured souls, bitties can not survive without a human to absorb love from. When left alone for too long, a bitty will lose energy and become ill. Two bitties can extend this time by supporting each other but ultimately, without human contact, a bitty will die." Oh my god. Thinking about the bitty running around outside by himself already made you anxious; apparently he also has some kind of anthropomorphous death timer. When was the last time this bitty has been snuggled by a loving human? From everything he's said so far, you gather that he escaped from a really bad situation. What had he said? "There's all kinds of sick shit humans do to bitties?"  
You type "Red Eyed Bittees" in the search bar of your phone's browser. Did you mean "Edgy Bitties?" Oh, so that's what his type is called. Funny. The top results are "Frendz Corp. announces discontinuation of Edgy Bitties and Fell Pappies"  
"Where to buy an Edgy Bitty"  
"Buzzfeed- 20 names for Edgy Bitties"  
"Humane Society and local police team-up in crackdown on 'Bitty-fighting.'"  
Oh, no. The last one reminds you of something else the bitty said, when you asked if someone was hurting him. "Only when they weren't making us fight each other."  
You change the search for local news and type, "bitty fighting." The first result sends a chill down your spine. The location is only one town over.  
"Three arrested in cross-agency raid on 'Bitty-fighting' ring."  
You follow the link with some trepidation. The story is pretty much what it sounds like. An undercover animal control agent followed up on an anonymous tip that led them to a gang organizing bitty fights on the side of a much larger drug operation. The DEA and local police led a cooperative raid on the location used for bitty-fights, catching three suspected gang members who were there at the time. Thirty-six bitties had been recovered from the premises and were returned to Frendz Corp. at their request. Agents suspected that more bitties were involved than just those found at the site. "Often in this kind of situation there are individuals who bring their own bitties to the ring, and if they survive they take them with when they leave," said senior animal control officer Rogers. "It's hard to confirm how many were involved here because bitties don't leave much evidence. They don't produce waste and when they die they just turn to dust." You decide to stop reading now. Jesus Christ, this is awful. You look down at the tiny skeleton curled up beside you and your heart swells with a warm, protective instinct. You want so badly to take care of him. Hopefully he'll let you.

_Angery boi with his splint. jfc I can't draw. help._


	4. "The bitty" finally gets a name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If bitties were real, you know Buzzfeed would be all over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (special bonus pic at the end)

Three hours later, the bitty is still fast asleep and you really, REALLY have to use the bathroom and feed your dogs dinner. You don't want to wake him up but some time during his sleep the bitty attached himself to you. His little claw-like hands grip your shirt, pulling him against your belly. Reluctantly, you stroke his skull to wake him up. The bone is strangely warm and soft. The bitty smiles in his sleep and makes a pleased sound like a purr. It's so cute you can barely handle it. You stifle the urge to squeel _eeeeeee!_ by coughing. The little skeleton starts awake and looks at the shirt he's holding with confusion. He notices you watching him and his face... turns red? How is that even possible?  
"Morning sunshine," you say. It's actually almost 7pm. The bitty drops your shirt and vigorously wipes his hands on his shorts.  
"Wh-whatever..." he says, turning his glowing face away from you.  
"How are you feeling?" you ask.  
He swings his splinted arm around, testing it. "Huh," he says, sounding a little surprised. He picks at the tape with his other hand.  
"What? What's wrong?"  
"Nothing," he says. He sees you looking at him disbelievingly and says, "no, seriously." He gives up on the tape and yanks the entire splint off in one piece. "It's completely fixed." He waves his arm around to prove it. Sure enough, you can see only light lines where the cracks were.  
"Wow, that's insane. Bitties really live off love and stuff, huh?"  
He makes a disgusted sound. "It's not actually love, moron. They just say that so humans feel good. It's more like... I don't know, life force? You can get it from anybody, even if they hate ya." He flexes his arm some more. "I've never seen it work this fast, though."  
"Have... Have you been injured a lot? Those lines on your bones-"  
"Yeah, whatever," he interrupts you. He stands up and blinks over to your nightstand. You sit up and stretch your back.  
"Okay, I've got to go to the bathroom, like, really bad, but are you going to run away while I'm gone?"  
"Tch..." he scoffs. He folds his arms and looks out the window.  
"Seriously, where are you even trying to go?"  
"What do you care," he mutters.  
"I don't want you to get hurt. I just saved you from certain death at the paws of a chihuahua and apparently you have to leech energy off of humans or you'll die; plus, you're like seven inches tall- you're not safe outside by yourself." He doesn't say anything, just keeps staring sullenly at the window. "Look, if I don't go to the bathroom right now, I'm going to explode. Please just promise me you'll be here when I get back."  
There's a moment of silence, then, "...Yeah."

\---  
  
Sure enough, the bitty stays. You re-enter the bedroom and find him flipping through a women's clothing catalog on the floor. He sees you and disgustedly throws it away from himself. In the moment before he blinks away, you notice his face has turned slightly red again.  
"How do you do that?" you ask the now seemingly empty room.  
"Do what?" a voice comes from under the bed.  
"Turn red like that. You don't have blood."  
"...I don't know what the hell you're talking about."  
You decide not to press further. "I'm gonna go feed the dogs and get food for myself. You can come with me or lurk under the bed like a creep."  
This remark earns you a small scoffing noise. "Tch. Whatever."  
"Alright. I'll be right back."  
A few minutes later, the dogs are at your heels as you carry a plate of food and two condiment bottles in to the bedroom. It's a struggle not to drop anything as you wrestle with the door, eventually managing to frustrate the dogs' valiant effort to gain entry. They voice their complaints by whining a little, then settle down. You can see fur through the crack at the bottom of the door and know that Mila is lying on the other side. You sigh and carry the plate over to the bed. For lack of anything more like what functional adults eat, it's vegan corndogs again. The bitty is back on the nightstand and his little red eyelights dilate as he eyes the food hungrily. You sit down on the edge of the bed and set the plate on the mattress.  
"Mustard, I assume?" you say as you squirt some on the plate. You add a puddle of ketchup for yourself.  
The bitty hops the gap and runs across the matress. "Yeah. Whatever. I don't care," he says, trying and failing to look cooly disinterested.  
  
\----  
  
You finish your corndog and stretch out on the bed, lying down so you and the bitty are at eye-level. You made three this time, intending to eat two of them. Either bitties need to eat a lot more than you thought or this guy is especially hungry because he grabbed a second corndog immediately after tearing through the first one. You're dying to know where the food goes once it disappears into his mouth but if you ask he'll probably just get offended.  
"Okay, I get the impression you've been through some shit so I'm not gonna be annoying and ask about it," you say, "but you've gotta at least tell me your name."  
The bitty grumbles and stuffs the last of the corndog in his mouth.  
"Come on, what am I supposed to call you?"  
"I don't have a name, okay?" he snaps.  
"Wait, really?"  
"Yeah. Turns out you don't get a name when you're just a freak 'pet' made in a lab."  
"Oh come on, pets have names. My dogs are Mila and Jun-Jun. Mila's the big one and..."  
The bitty is looking at you with absolute murder in his little red eyes.  
"Uh... Okay, I'll admit, that wasn't the right thing to say. But hey, if you don't have a name, that means you get to pick one!"  
His scowl softens a little into a look of uncertainty. He sits down, arms crossed against his chest. "I guess. Ugh, I don't know. What do I even pick?"  
"Well..." You pull out your phone. "I saw a BuzzFeed list of Edgy bitty names, earlier."  
He's back to looking hateful. "Are you serious?"  
You read in a sing-song voice, "'Choosing a name for your bitty is one of the most fun parts of adopting your new family member! Here are our top twenty picks for the Edgy little guy in your life.'"  
"Yeah, you can go ahead and stop right ther-"  
"Number twenty," you continue, "Ripper."  
"This is dumb."  
"Number nineteen: Rawhide."  
"The hell kind of name is that?!"  
"Number eighteen: Bruiser"  
"This is fucking stupid."  
"Number seventeen: Bones."  
"'Bones?' Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"  
"Number sixteen: Brutus"  
"Are these all gonna be things assholes name dogs?"  
"Hey, Brutus is a real name."  
"Bullshit."  
"It is! Famous Roman! One of the ones that stabbed Caesar. You know, 'Et tu Brute?'"  
The bitty is looking at you like you've lost your mind. You clear your throat and continue.  
"Number fifteen: Spike. Number fourteen: Killer. Number thirteen: Chris."  
"Chris?"  
"Chris. Number twelve: Red"  
"'Now they're just running out of ideas."  
"Number eleven: Blue"  
"Wait, what?"  
"Number ten: Stabby"  
"Okay, now I know you're just making stuff up."  
"Maybe. Number nine: Rock."  
"No way."  
"No, that one's actually in there."  
"Of course it fucking is."  
"Number eight: Wrath."  
"That's going to be accurate in a minute."  
"Number seven: Beast. Number six: Fang. Oh, I like that one!"  
"If you start calling me 'Fang' I will fucking end you."  
"Fine, fine. Number five: Dagger. Wow, a lot of these are just pointy things, huh? Number four: Gator."  
"Wait, 'Gator' as in 'alligator?'"  
"I guess." You look up from the phone. "What, you don't think it's a good name?"  
He unfolds his arms and throws them in the air. "It's fuckin' terrible!"  
"Hey, it's not bad! Personally I'd love to be named 'Gator.'"  
"No you wouldn't."  
You sigh dramatically. "Such a strong, powerful name. Sadly, I'm forever cursed to be Y/N." The bitty is still trying to scowl but you notice the corners of his mouth twitch up a little.  
"Number three: Bane. Hey, like Batman!"  
"Tch," he scoffs.  
"What, not a DC fan?"  
"You know, I don't know what the hell you're saying half the time. I can't tell if you're serious or just making shit up to mess with me."  
"Yeah, I'm more of a Marvel gal myself. Number two," you read, then burst out laughing.  
"Oh for God's sake. What stupid-ass name is it now?"  
You stop giggling long enough to read, "Number two: Jaws."  
The bitty sighs and palms his face with both hands.  
"And finally, drum roll please, number one." You feign astonishment. "...Huh. Wow, interesting..."  
The bitty looks up at you. "What? What is it?"  
"Oh nothing," you say, setting the phone on the bed. "Just another stupid one. You wouldn't like it."  
"Just tell me, damn it!" he shouts, disappearing and reappearing next to your hand. He tries to tug the phone out from under it.  
"Oh? I thought you didn't care."  
He stops and sputters, "W-well... well I don't! But you can't just tell me everything except the last one!"  
"Okay, okay." You pick up the phone again. "This is a really weird coincidence. Turns out the number one name for Edgy bitties is," you peer at him over the top of your phone, "Smooches."  
The bitty stares at you for a moment then doubles over laughing. "Ho-holy shit! Hahaha! Oh my God, you're such an asshole! Hahaha!" He falls over, laughing into the blankets. It's pretty darn adorable. "Okay, okay," he says when he catches his breath, which apparently is something bitties have despite being made entirely of bones. He wipes tears from his eye sockets; again, a weird thing for a skeleton to do. "Tell you what, heheheh, you can call me Chris."  
"Really?"  
"Heheh. Yeah. Why not. It's the only one that's not, you know, a pet name."  
Oh, that makes sense. You decide not to tell him that you made that one up and number thirteen is actually 'Ragnar.' He seems genuinely happy and you don't want to spoil that. Still, you can't resist teasing him a little more. "You know, one of Margrecia's dogs is named Chris."  
Chris' smile disappears. "Are you shitting me?"  
"No, she really does have a dog named Chris. It's a little brown chiweenie. He's got a glandular condition and he's really, REALLY fat." You manage to look serious for a moment longer before you crumble and start laughing.  
Chris sighs, but you can see he's smiling again. "Such an asshole."

_BONUS PIC: Me and my Sans ~~puppet~~ bitty enjoying some vegan corndogs _(more pics and videos at [UnderPuppets](Underpuppets.tumblr.com))


	5. Bitty Clothes DIY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is a clean, troubled boi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the fluff, cause the second half of this chapter has some feels

Chris reluctantly agrees to sleep in the spare bedroom so your "damn asshole dogs," who insist on being included on the bed, don't eat him. The room is full of boxes you still haven't unpacked since moving in almost a year ago. You use your fluffiest pillow and some clean blankets to make a cozy little bitty bed on top of a large box containing your old karaoke machine. Chris blinks out from where he had been sitting on your shoulder and reappears next to the bed.  
"There," you say. "You should be warm enough during the night."  
"Yeah," he mutters non-committally. He starts to climb in. You hold your hand out, stopping him.  
"Wait, you're still all dirty." He glares at you, then looks over his slobber and dust caked t-shirt and shorts. "So what?" he growls.  
"What do you mean, 'so what?' You need to wash up. You've got dried up chihuahua drool all over you. Tell you what, let me get a bowl of water and some towels and you can clean yourself up before going to bed." You leave and come back with a large ceramic bowl of warm water, a dish towel, and a pile of napkins with logos of fast food chains. You spread the napkins over a small area of the floor and set down the bowl. Chris appears next to it and cautiously dips his fingers in the water. His face takes on a weird expression.  
"Too hot?" you ask.  
He waves his hand back and forth. "Nah, it's... nice. Really nice."  
"Okay, good. Give me your clothes and get in."  
"What?!" Chris shouts, wheeling on you.  
"I'll wash them for you. They'll be dry by tomorrow morning."  
"The hell am I s'posed to wear in the meantime?!"  
"Well, I mean... just be naked? You're a skeleton, what does it matter?"  
A red glow flushes over Chris' cheekbones. "It's fuckin' humiliating! I'm not some kinda fuckin' animal!"  
"But you're just bones! What do you have to cover up? Wait..." You gasp dramatically. "Chris... do you... _have a penis?"_  
Chris turns so red he could stop traffic. "F-FUCK YOU!!!" he screams and disappears. You don't see where he went. Oops. You might have pushed that a little too far.  
"Chris?" you address the boxes.  
They answer angrily, "Fuck off!"  
"I'm sorry! That was insensitive of me. I... I don't think you're an animal."  
"Well ain't that a fuckin' weight off my mind!"  
"Like, literally. Biologically speaking, you aren't even alive. You're a magicky artificial soul skeleton thing made in a factory for the American consumer."  
"That doesn't mean I'm gonna strip down for any fuckin' pervert human that asks! You'll get the damn clothes out of my dust!"  
"...Is that like the bitty version of 'over my dead body?'"  
"Yeah, and this is the bitty version of 'GO AWAY!'" A small bony hand pops up from behind one of the boxes and flips you off. You snort and walk out in to the hall, an idea forming in your mind.

[](https://imgur.com/a/P1Y8csT)  
(art by [CuddlyQuiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyQuiche/pseuds/CuddlyQuiche))  
  
A couple minutes later, you return and knock on the door.  
After a moment you hear Chris' muffled shout. "WHAT?!"  
"Can I come in? I have clean clothes for you."  
"Whoa, really? Wait. No, no don't come in!"  
"Why not? Are you...indecent?"  
"Am not, you creep! I'm just... in the water."  
"What, like, in your clothes?"  
"...Yeah."  
"Why? I'm coming in."  
"No!!"  
You open the door and slip into the room. Chris is sitting in the bowl of water, still in his gross, slobbery shirt and shorts. When he stands up the wet fabric clings to his bony frame, somehow making him look even smaller. He growls.  
"I said get ou- no! Don't sit down!"  
You lower yourself to the floor in front of him. "I'll leave you alone in a minute, I promise." You hold out a pair of modified socks. There's a big hole in the toe for the neck and smaller armholes on the sides. It ends in an exposed seam where you cut the extra fabric off. It's not exactly fashionable but you can totally see potential for bitty DIY craft videos.  
"These are clean; I just bought them yesterday."  
Chris looks at the sock-clothes with disgust.  
"I'm not wearing a fucking dress."  
"No, they're shifts. Makeshift shifts." You giggle at your own stupid pun. "Totally unisex. Call it a frock or a robe or something if it makes you feel more masculine. It's better than being naked, which is better than being in dirty wet clothes." You wrinkle your nose at the scum and strands of re-hydrated slobber floating in the bowl. "Look how gross you made the water. Hop out for a sec and I'll refill it."  
"Tch," Chris scoffs.  
"I can make the water hotter this time, if you want."  
Chris perks up at that. "Yeah?"  
"Yeah, it can get way hotter than that. Personally, I like to have the shower really hot. I just wasn't sure if bitties were okay with the heat."  
Chris rolls his eyelights. "I'm made of bones. The fuck d'you think is gonna happen? It's not like I'm gonna melt, idiot."  
"Oh? So you think you can handle the heat, huh?"  
"Duh."  
"Well get out and we'll put that to the test."  
Chris climbs over the edge of the bowl. The water dripping off his wet clothes quickly soaks through the wad of In-N-Out napkins he's standing on. You take the bowl back to the kitchen and fill it up with water that's just hot enough to be a little painful. Maybe it's a little mean of you, but it's not like it's gonna burn him. If it's too hot then he can just wait for it to cool off.  
You go in and set the steaming bowl back on the floor. Chris tentatively sticks a finger in and doesn't recoil. To your surprise, his face breaks out in a wide grin. He dunks both arms in the water and happily swishes them around.  
"Good temperature?" you ask.  
He notices you smiling at him and straightens up, folding his arms across his chest again.  
"...It's ok, I guess."  
"All right, well the clean not-dresses are there. I'll come back in, like, twenty minutes and take your dirty clothes."  
"Sure. Whatever."  
You leave him to it. The bedroom door opens outward, thumping into Mila where she was lying on the floor. It startles her out of sleep and she gives a surprised yip.  
"Aw baby, I'm so sorry!" you cry.  
"Ha!" you hear Chris laugh.  
You shut the door and sit down to give apology pets. After a moment, you hear the sounds of water splashing on the other side of the door. You can hear Chris making small, happy noises and it sounds like he's purring again.

___

Chris opens his eyes but it's too dark to see anything. When he fell asleep, there was light coming from under the door. You must have turned it off when you went to bed. He wishes you hadn't.  
He doesn't like the dark. Bad things happen in the dark.

 _The dark is musty and suffocating. It smells like fear. And dust. There's a wall on either side of him. He's in the briefcase again._  
Chris hears wheezing noises to his left. He turns and sees two bright white eyelights shivering violently as they struggle for breath. The damn Sansy bitty is having another panic attack. It's bad enough knowing he's probably about to die; Chris doesn't need this on top of it.  
"Shut up, would ya?!" he snaps. The Sansy freezes for a moment, looking at him. Then he starts wailing.  
"Ugh. Now look what ya did," a rough voice behind Chris says. He turns his head and sees the single red eyelight of the Edgy bitty called Crunch.  
"It's not my fault the idiot's such a crybaby!" Chris grumbles.  
"Well, we need ta stop him 'fore ta boss gets back." Chris grunts as Crunch shoves his way past him. The briefcase isn't very wide when it's stood up like this, but it's better than when they have to lie down. "Hey," Crunch says to the Sansy. "Take a few deep breaths." The Sansy manages one shaky inhale then starts sobbing again.  
"This is fuckin' stupid," Chris mutters.  
"Breathe," Crunch repeats. "What's yer name?"  
"My...name...?" the Sansy sniffles.  
"Yeah. Start with that. Most people have 'em."  
"(sniff)...I'm.... S-sandy," the bitty stammers. "At least... the k-kids call me Sandy... m-my real name i-is Sandwich."  
"Ha!" Chris laughs. "Are you fucking serious? Fucking 'Sandwich the Sansy?' Hahaha!"  
"Don't listen ta him," Crunch says over his wheezing. "He's just mad cause yer name is better 'n his."  
"Wha...what's...n-name?" the Sansy sniffles.  
"I'm Crunch. The asshole with two eyes is Chomp."  
"Tch," Chris scoffs. "Look, are you done cryin' yet, _Sandwich_?" He snorts. "Seriously, what idiot named you that?"  
"My family did!" Sandy shouts indignantly. "When they picked me at the adoption center!"  
"What, they didn't buy you at the supermarket, _Sandwich?"_ Chris cackles.  
"Yeah, well...well at least someone picked me!" Sandy shouts.  
Chris stops laughing. "Say that again," he growls.  
"Shut up, kid," Crunch says warningly.  
Sandy keeps going. "No one wants Edgies! When I was at the adoption center I didn't see a single one get picked! They don't even make you anymo-"  
Chris' growl grows to a roar and he lunges for the Sansy bitty. Crunch gets between them just in time. He shoves Chris hard, making him stumble backwards.  
"Save it fer the ring!" he shouts. Chris snarls and jumps at him, swiping blindly in the dark with his claws. A bony foot slams into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. He falls on his back, gasping for air. Fuck, Crunch is strong. Chris isn't sure how long he's been here, but he hasn't survived only by luck.  
"Knock that shit off!" Crunch growls. "Yer lucky I don't dust ya right here, Chomp, 'specially after ta shitstorm you started last night. And you," he says to Sandy, "yer fuckin perfect little life is over so quit talkin' like yer better 'n us."  
Crunch stomps past Chris, probably to go back to sleep in the corner. Sandy is quietly weeping.  
As he lies on the cruddy velvet lining of the briefcase, Chris tries to imagine what it would be like to be picked by a family. What did you do all day? What did you get fed? If you were good, did they take you out of the cage and hold you? Pet you? He touches his forehead, pretending it's a soft human finger. What would that feel like?  
Too bad he'll never know. He really pissed off the boss yesterday. The human is gonna make sure Chris doesn't survive the night. Well, if he's got nothing to lose anyway...  
"Hey Sandy," Chris says. "What's it like being a pet?"  
"...Wh..what?" Sandy sniffles.  
"You and I are probably about to die. I'd like know what I missed out on." Chris rolls on to his belly and meets Sandy's eyelights. "Tell me why they named you 'Sandwich.'"  
"They...Richard... the dad... he was eating a meatball sub in the adoption center. Customers aren't supposed to have food inside so he was trying to hide it from the employees. I was in one of the tanks in the corner that day; you see, there were too many of us to all fit on the adoption floor at once so we cycled out. Anyways, I see this guy come over and start eating this amazing looking sandwich. I'm DYING to get a bite of this thing. So I shout at the guy, 'Don't let the workers catch you with that, they're a little _crusty_.' He looks around and I wave at him. He comes over. I say, 'I'm not trying to be _kneady_ , but _olive_ the food in here is pretty _crumby_. So how about I tell you three sandwich jokes and if you laugh at any of them, you've gotta give me the rest of that.' 'What do I get if I don't laugh?' he says. I say, 'If you don't laugh, then...uh...you get me.' I can tell he wants to laugh at that, but he's already got his game face on. 'Alright, deal,' he says. So I hit him with joke number one, 'What'd the baker say when his son snuck out at night?' The guy shrugs. I say, 'If I catch you _loaf_ ing around after your _bread_ time again, you're _toast_.' He almost laughs but catches himself. I hit him with number two. 'A reuben on rye was going against the grain trying to date a gal from the upper crust. Taking her out cost a lot of _dough_ and he only had a pumper _nickel_ , so she says 'What a pickle. _Lettuce_ go somewhere cheap.' So they head to a bar but when they walk in the barman says, 'I'm sorry, we don't serve food here.''  
'Boo,' the man says, but I can tell he's about to crack. I'm _on a roll_. His wife walks over. She's like, 'Are you still eating that thing?' The guy answers, 'Yeah but this bitty is trying to con me out of it. If I laugh, he gets my sandwich. I think I'm gonna win, though. He's only got one joke left.' 'Yeah,' I say, 'seems my plan is going _a-rye_. I guess my sandwich jokes are _sub_ -standard, or maybe they're just stale. At least the yeast one usually gets a _rise_ out of people, but you probably think I'm just full of bologna.' The guy loses it. The woman is snickering, too. I'm happy, cause now I get the sandwich, right? 'Looks like your sandwich is toast,' I say. But the man draws the woman aside and starts talking to her about something. I can't hear it. Then they both walk away."  
"Tch," Chris scoffs. "Assholes."  
"Just wait!" Sandy continues, "Now I'm pretty bummed out, right? But a few minutes later, I see the man and woman coming back and there's one of the adoption center workers following them. 'Which one?' the worker says, and the woman points at me. I start to panic cause I think I'm in trouble, but then the worker unlocks the tank and picks me up and hands me to the woman. 'I know I lost,' the guy says to me, 'but can I still have the prize?' I'm speechless, which is rare for a Sansy. Finally I say, 'Pal, you _bread_ my mind.' Everybody laughs, even the worker. So yeah, they named me 'Sandwich.'"  
"What happened next?" Chris asks eagerly.  
"Next, the worker hands the man a cardboard adoption box and I hop in. I can't see what's happening, but I know we're going over to the cashier. When the box opens again, I'm in a car..."  
Chris listens in fascination as Sandy recounts his first day with his new family; how he and the parents surprised the kids by wrapping his box up like a present; all the amazing food he tried; the time he made one of the kids laugh so hard they threw up, on and on. Chris never wants it to stop. _He just wants to keep listening..._


	6. Wake Up and Smell the Corndogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris considers his next move. You hire a dog-walker.

Chris opens his eyes. Soft light outlines the window curtains. It takes him a moment to remember where he is. He's lying in a luxuriously warm and fuzzy bed on top of a cardboard box, surrounded by more cardboard boxes. Sandy's words float around in his head. Is this what it was like to live in a house? With an owner? No, Chris thought, not sure if he was sad or not. You aren't his owner. Edgy bitties didn't get owners like Sandy's. Who in their right mind would want a pet like him in the house? He wasn't cute and cuddly and friendly. It's not even like you picked him out at the store. You didn't choose him, he just stupidly let himself get caught in your yard. And just because you saved him from the stupid rat dogs and patched him up doesn't mean you aren't planning to sell him or use him for fights or something. Chris scowled. Besides, Sandy said owners always had their bitties in the bed with them at night. They didn't kick them out to the next room all alone.

Outside the door he hears the clicking sound of dogs walking on hardwood floors. He blinks and rubs the sleep out of his eye sockets. So... what happens now? Should he try to escape? The thought of wandering around on his own again isn't tempting. Plus he's still wearing the god-awful sock-dress you made for him. Christ, he needs to get his clothes back. He shouldn't have let you take them; he could have washed them on his own. Oh man, that bath, though. He smiles as he remembers the heat soaking through each of his bones and the feel of the hot water gently enveloping his whole face when he dunked his head all the way in...  
Chris realizes with embarrassment that he's purring again. He wriggles out of the blankets and jumps to his feet, shaking himself violently. What was wrong with him??

There's a soft knock on the door followed by your voice.  
"Hey Chris, you awake? I don't mean to be rude, but it's past noon and I've gotta talk to you about something. Oh! I have your clothes for you. I'll slide them under the door." There's a pause. "Actually the floor is really dusty. Hold on a sec." There's the sound of footsteps walking away and the scrabble of paws as those stupid dogs follow you around. You come back a few seconds later.  
"Here, I put them in a bag. I didn't close the seal so you should be able to open it." A resealable plastic snack bag slides under the sizable crack in the door with his clean red shirt and black shorts inside. "So like I said-" you start to say, but are interrupted by the doorbell and subsequent canine conniption fit.

Chris hears you walk away and start talking to someone at the door. He blinks over to the plastic bag and changes into his now faintly floral scented clothes, aggressively flinging off the stupid sock-dress. A moment later, he hears your feet approach the door again, this time unaccompanied by the dogs.  
"The dogs are gone," you say. "It's safe to come out. Do you want me to open the door?"  
Hrmph. Chris doesn't need your help for that. He summons his magic and reaches out, surrounding the door handle with red light. With a tug, he pulls it down. The latch clicks and the door slowly swings open, revealing you standing in the hallway, looking very impressed.  
"Wow, okay, cool!" you stammer in sequence, smiling excitedly. "I can't believe you can do magic! I've wanted to see it so bad since I heard about it. You're freaking amazing! And the teleporting thing, too! How far can you teleport? How much can you lift?"  
Chris shrugs. "Never measured it with weights or anything. The heaviest thing I ever lifted was a full can of soda, but I could only do it for a second. As for teleporting," he grins and says with no small amount of pride, "most bitties can only make it five or ten feet. Me? I can blink as far as here to the end of this hallway, and I can do it four times in a row." Chris beams at you. This is the one thing he's really good at. It's the reason he survived in the ring so long even though he couldn't fight worth a shit.  
"Aw man, I wish I could teleport," you say. "It must be so useful."  
"Yeah, it's uh... saved my bacon a few times." Chris scratches absently at the back of his skull. "You can't go through anything, though. And it has to be right above a surface; you can't blink into the air. After four jumps it takes me about ten seconds to rechar-"  
 _Wait, why was he telling you this?!_ You've been harmless so far, but that doesn't mean he's not going to have to escape at some point. Don't tell the human things like how long you have to wait to teleport, idiot! Stupid! At least this human is disorganized and slow. Getting away from you should be easy. He just has to wait until you're distracted. Maybe...

From your perspective, you watch Chris cut himself off mid-sentence and stare off into space, tiny gears grinding in his tiny head.  
"Okay..." you say after a moment, startling Chris out of his trance. "We should totally test the weight thing some time. I know I have a postage scale somewhere...hah, actually, it's probably in one of these boxes."  
"Uh...okay." Nope! Not happening! Chris gestures at the crowded room. "What's with all the boxes, anyway?"  
"Oh, it's just a bunch of junk I haven't unpacked yet. I know, I know, I have too much stuff, you don't have to tell me." You start walking down the hall. "Come on out; dogs are with a dogwalker."  
"With a what?"  
"A dog walker. They take your dog outside and walk them on a leash for money."  
Chris laughs derisively. "Ha! Are you serious? You actually pay someone to take those slobbery turds off your hands for a few hours?"  
"Hey, don't you judge me! I did it so I wouldn't have to worry about the dogs eating you for a few hours! Besides, lots of people do it every single day; I only do it when I'm keeping a small skeleton thing in the house." You hold up your cell phone. "Do you want them to come back? I can call them."  
"No!" Chris shouts, anger mixed with panic. "Don't call them! Dog walking's not stupid. There, I said it, happy now? Asshole..." he mutters.  
You snort and pocket your phone. "Very. I paid extra for them to take the dogs on a really long hike, so the house is yours until this evening."  
Chris gives you a weird look that's impossible to read. After a couple awkward seconds of silence, you head into the kitchen.

Chris doesn't follow you immediately. He's busy trying to process what you just said. _His house until the evening_?  
So, you were keeping him for a few hours and then...letting him go? Or wait, maybe you meant you were gonna bring him somewhere else tonight. That makes sense. The boss moved him and the others around a lot. Chris wonders if you have a briefcase, too. Probably not. That's way too formal for you. From what he's seen, you're the type of person who's more likely to carry him around in a cardboard box. Maybe that's a good thing. He might be able to tear his way out of it... unless you tie him up first. Shit. You're not the brightest human he's ever met but you're probably gonna think of that. Well, whatever. He's gonna be gone before you get the chance. Might as well play nice for a few hours and get food.

\---

You bustle about the kitchen, putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher. You're just putting the last one in the cupboard when you notice Chris appear on the counter behind you.  
"Hey there," you say. "What'll it be?"  
"Can... I have another corndog?" he asks tentatively.  
You wrinkle your nose. "No way."  
"The hell, lady?!" he snarls. "I did everything you told me to! I even wore your fugly sock-shirt! You're seriously not gonna feed me?!"  
"Woah, chill out!" You hold up your hands placatingly. "Of course I'm gonna feed you! A corndog's just not what people usually eat for breakfast; but if you really want it, I'll make you one."  
"Oh," Chris says, the venom disappearing from his voice. You open the freezer and start a new box. You're gonna need to go shopping soon.  
"So..." Chris says, "why don't you eat corndogs for breakfast?"  
You start the microwave. "Honestly, I don't know. It's a cultural thing, I guess." You shrug. "Once you grow up with it, it just doesn't feel right to eat anything besides 'breakfast' foods first thing in the morning, you know?" you say, ignoring the fact that it's getting close to 1pm.  
"Tch," he scoffs. "You humans are weird."  
"That we are. You want mustard, I assume?"  
"Yeah."  
You grab the mustard and soymilk from the fridge and put them on the table. You open the cereal cabinet and consider how healthy you want to be today.  
"Hey Chris, pick a number between one and five."  
"Uh... four?"  
"Awww, you picked the shredded wheat," you groan.  
"Three?"  
You groan louder. "Bran Nuggets. You're killin' me, Chris."  
"The fuck are you askin' me for if you don't want the numbers?!" he snaps. The microwave dings and you bring the corndog to the table. Chris appears next to the plate as you set it down. You pour yourself a responsible bowl of Cocoa Bites.   
  
[](https://imgur.com/a/P1Y8csT)  
(art by [CuddlyQuiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlyQuiche/pseuds/CuddlyQuiche))  
  
You're three bites in to your very adult cereal when Chris finishes his corndog.  
"Wow, that was quick. Do you want another one?" you ask.  
"HELL YE-" Chris shouts before he catches himself. "Yeah, sure. That'd be great," he says, trying to look nonchalant. You smirk and get up to put another corndog in the microwave.  
"So, we need to talk plans," you say as you walk back to the table.  
"Plans?" Chris asks.  
"First thing we need to do is hit up the nearest bitty store, which is in the Niwoow mall, forty minutes from here. As proud as I am of my genius sock hack, you need real clothes."  
"What's wrong with the ones I got on?"  
"Aside from the fact that they're all ripped up and you've already gotten mustard on them again?"  
Chris looks down at a bright yellow smear on his shirt. "Shit!"  
"Second, we've got to figure out the long term plan here. Where do you want to live?"  
Chris looks stumped. "Well...uh... I don't know?"  
You nod sagely. "Are there humans out there looking for you?"  
Chris thinks for a moment. "No. They're not."  
You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Why do you feel so relieved? "Well, I'm not gonna make you go anywhere until you're ready. You can stay here as long as you want."  
Chris looks up at you, eye sockets wide in surprise. "Wait...you... you're keeping me? In the house?"  
"Well, duh; I'm not a monster. What, you think I'm gonna throw some sad little friendless bitty out on the street to die?" The words escape before your verbal filter can catch them. "Uh...oh boy..."  
Chris' face is bright red. He doesn't look at you. You brace for an angry tirade but it doesn't come. Instead, the bitty stands up silently and blinks away. You don't know where he is until you hear the spare bedroom door slam closed.  
Oops.

Ten minutes later, you knock softly on the door. "Chris?" you say. No answer. You slowly push the door open and peek inside. Chris is lying on his bed. "Chris?" you say. The bitty doesn't stir. _Oh my god, he isn't dead, is he??_ You run over. Upon closer inspection, you determine that Chris is just asleep. The poor little guy must still be exhausted after whatever he went through. Ughhhh you really don't want to wake him up, but you have to get him new clothes. Maybe if you carry him to the car very gently, he'll stay asleep and he can sleep the whole ride to the mall.  
After grabbing your keys and putting on your shoes, you come back to Chris' bed and very carefully pick him up. He doesn't stir, except to murmur happily and curl into your hand when you can't resist stroking his little skull. Oh. My. God. Cuteness overload.  
On your way out the door, you grab the little bitty car seat you made last night. It's built out of half of an old tupperware container and attaches to the regular car seatbelt. There's a comfortable layer of fabric for a bitty to sit on. Two faux leather straps go across the bitty's lap and chest to keep them safe in case of an accident. For lack of anything better, they are tied with cotton twine, which can be tightened or quickly released via slipknots. It's not pretty, but you're pleased with it. Add it to your growing list of ugly bitty DIY projects.  
Somehow, Chris doesn't wake up as you buckle him in. Man, he's a really heavy sleeper. With the directions loaded on your phone and bitty safely secured in the passenger seat, you start driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're trying to guess what happens next, you're probably right.  
> I actually have most of chapters 7 & 8 already but I frequently write things out of order because I have the patience of a toddler failing the marshmallow test; so now I have to go back and fix inconsistencies and fill in the gaps with literary Spackle. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your lovely comments and encouragement! I seriously thought this was just gonna be a one-off when I started it but now I love the story too much to stop. I gotta know what happens next, you know?
> 
> I am going to make a video reading the story aloud so stay tuned to hear the author of B³ attempt to do an Edgy Bitty voice. The video needs artwork to show during the scenes; I will pay $15 for cute drawings! (or more, if it's a really complicated full detail painting or whatever)  
> If you're interested in contributing art, contact me at theunderpuppets@gmail.com or @underpuppets on tumblr


	7. You done f-d up now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris reacts predictably to the car seat.  
> You need some mouthwash to get the taste of your foot out of your mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> releasing two chapters today because 7 ended up really long so I split it

Chris wakes up to the gentle sound of a car horn blaring outside. "ASSHOLE!" he hears you yell.  
It takes Chris a moment to get his bearings. Apparently he's in a car. When did he get in a car? To his left, you sit in the driver's seat, stealing anxious glances at him while keeping an eye the road.  
"Ah crap, I'm sorry," you say. "I really wanted to let you sleep. We've got like, twenty minutes of driving left if you want to keep napping."  
"Where..." Chris begins to ask as he starts to get up. Something stops him, holding him down. He looks down and sees two straps tied around his body. Terror grips him. _No, no, **nO, NO!**_ this wasn't supposed to happen! He was gonna get away before you could catch him!  
Chris tears frantically at the cotton twine with his hands, which for some reason are free.  
"No! No, stop that!" you shout when you see what he's doing. He looks at you and growls, then keeps going. "Chris, don't untie the knots while we're driving!"  
You reach over to stop him. He growls even louder and snaps at your hand. "AAH!" you exclaim, barely pulling away in time. "WHAT THE HELL, CHRIS?!" you scream.  
For the second time, you hear that "eep!" noise as Chris curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head as though bracing himself for being struck.  
Ah, shit. You shouldn't have yelled at him. You know better than that. He's clearly been hit by humans. Would you scream at an abused dog? No! Heh. It's accurate, but don't let Chris hear you making that comparison.  
"Chris..." you say softly, wishing an exit would come up so you can get off the freeway and talk to him. "Honey... I'm not gonna hit you...." You scowl and grumble not very quietly, "If I ever find the sick fucks who hurt you..."  
You watch Chris' reaction as much as you can while driving. At first he opens one eye and looks at you. To your surprise, the socket is completely black. It's kind of scary.  
Reassured that you aren't going to hit him, Chris begins to relax. He drops his arms and unfolds his legs from his chest, still shaking a little. After a few seconds he asks, "Where... are we?"  
"We're driving to the mall I mentioned earlier," you say. "I'm so sorry for scaring you; it's just you were sleeping so peacefully and I didn't want to wake you up."  
"I w-wasn't scared..." Chris says quietly, frowning and turning a little red.  
You refrain from challenging the obvious lie. Instead, you decide to distract him by asking something you've been itching to know. "Hey Chris, are you wearing dirty underwear right now?"  
"What kind of fuckin' question is that?!" he shouts. It worked. Now Chris is mad instead of sad.  
"When I washed your clothes you only gave me a shirt and shorts. I figured you were either too embarrassed to give me the underwear or you don't have any." You glance at him, trying to see his response. To your disappointment, he only turns a little bit red in the cheeks.  
"Tch," he scoffs. "Alright... I don't have underwear, happy?"  
"Oh. So do all bitties not wear underwear or is that just you?"  
Chris throws up his hands. "How should I fuckin' know?! This is all the clothes I ever got! It's not like they were handin' out underwear and I said nah, no thanks! Some bitties didn't even get clothes at all! There was this one Fell Pappy who made a whole outfit from plastic grocery bags. Sometimes they made you wear a dumb costume or some shit when you're in the ring, but..." Chris' voice dies out as he realizes how much he's been talking.  
"Oh. Uh...sorry." Well now you feel like a jerk for teasing Chris about the underwear. Ugh, you really need to think before you speak.  
You wish he would talk to you. He's said enough for you to form a vague picture, but you really wish you could know exactly what happened to him. "Hey..." you say. "Can I say something mushy you're probably gonna hate?"  
Chris scoffs. "Tch. It's not like I can stop you."  
"I'll take that as a yes. Now, I know you probably don't, but if you ever want to talk about what happened to you, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything; I won't judge. I just...I care about you, dude, and I want you to know that."  
Chris is quiet for a moment and you watch him as best you can while driving.  
"...Yeah, you're right," he finally says. "I did hate that."  
"Heh, well, you're called 'Edgies' for a reason, right? If you got all sappy all of a sudden, I'd be worried. I'd take you to the nearest...uh...vet? Is that where you take a sick bitty?"  
Chris shrugs. "Fuck if I know."  
"Well... remind me to ask someone at the store. Actually there are a few bitty-related questions I have."  
Chris raises one brow bone. "Seriously? Like what?"  
"Uh..." Oops. Shouldn't have said that out loud. "You know what, maybe I'll just Google them later."  
"Oh no, no, no," Chris insists, a malicious grin creeping over his face. "Please, tell me what you wanna ask. I'm a bitty, after all; who better to answer your questions?"  
"Well, one of the questions is if we need to buy you underwear. Actually, you know what? If they sell bitty underwear, we'll get it," you say decisively.  
"Okay, I guess. What else?"  
"Uh... I don't know, do you need to brush your teeth? Get a bitty multivitamin or something? Sleep with an orthopedic bitty shaped pillow? I don't know."  
"The fuck is an 'othopittick' pillow?"  
You wave one hand in a sort of wavy line. "It's like, an expensive pillow made so it holds your body in the right shape while you sleep so you don't get sore in the morning."  
Chris frowns at you. "You're making shit up again, aren't you?"  
"Sadly no, my bitty friend. The human body is a fragile machine, especially as you get older."  
"Well, I don't need a dumb special pillow."  
"I envy you and your strategically designed form. Hmm...what else, what else? Oh! Shampoo and conditioner!"  
Chris slaps a palm over his face. "That's the stupidest thing I have ever fuckin' heard. I don't have hair, genius!"  
"Aw, but you could pretend! Maybe they sell bitty wigs. We could braid your hair like a doll and put little shoes on your feet and OH it's gonna be so much fun! I haven't played with dolls since I was a little girl."  
Chris groans loudly and rolls his eyes. "I'm not your fuckin' doll, lady!"  
You look at him out of the side of your eye, smiling mischievously. "Oh yes you are."  
"NO I'M... I'm not..." Chris starts to shout angrily but his voice suddenly loses its vehemence. He looks uncertain for some reason.  
"Oh come on, I gave you like, four corndogs," you whine. "Let me play with you a little. I'll let you pick the music the rest of the drive there?"  
Chris considers this for a moment. "I get to pick on the way back, too."  
"Deal."

You told Chris he could pick the music but as you suspected, he doesn't know many songs. So you put your phone on shuffle and give Chris vetoing rights. To your surprise, he skips the grungier heavy rock and alternative songs in favor of softer acoustic; though he energetically vetoes insufferably mushy songs about love. You don't complain. All the songs are from your library so it's not like you dislike any of them.

At last, you pull into the parking lot of the Niwoow mall. You unbuckle yourself and look over. Chris is just sitting there, apparently waiting for you to untie him.  
"Uh... You need help with that?" you ask. You lean over and pull on the slip-knots, releasing the two leather thongs. Chris exhales audibly and gets up, stretching and rubbing the spots the straps were touching. Maybe he doesn't know how to untie slipknots? You'll make sure to clearly explain it next time.  
"Okay, you ready?" you ask.  
Chris actually smiles a little bit. The music really seems to have brightened his mood. "Yeah."  
"Come on, this is gonna be fun!" you say cheerily. "You get to pick clothes! I can't wait to see all the tiny little outfits and I bet there are adorable little matching shoes and-"  
"Wait, wait, wait," Chris interrupts. //"I'm// picking the clothes?"  
"Uh...Yeah? Don't worry, I can help you if you're not good at choosing outfits. I'm not the most chic woman ever but when I actually try, I think I have a decent fashion sense."  
Chris looks confused. "But..."  
"Oh come on, are you that scared of a little shopping?" You smirk.  
"N-no! Don't be stupid!" he growls. "I just thought, you know, since owners are s'posed to dress up their bitties..."  
"Wait, WHAT?!" you bust out laughing. "Chris, you think I'm your owner?? HAHAHA!"  
Chris turns bright cherry red. "W-well...ain't 'cha??"  
"FUCK no!" you snort. "I'm not your 'owner,' Chris! You don't 'belong' to me, idiot! Heheheh... heh..." Your mirth dies out as you realize Chris is not enjoying this as much as you are. His arms are crossed tight and his head is tucked into his chest, like he's trying to be even smaller than he already is. Almost his entire skull is bright red. He won't look at you. Ah, damn it. Too far. You are being such an accidental asshole today.  
"Um...Chris?" you say cautiously. He doesn't look at you. "Chris... I'm sorry for laughing at you... that was a dick move. I didn't mean to hurt your feelin-"  
"euuEGHHH!" Chris groans. "Shut it with the mushy crap! Let's just go!" He disappears from the seat and reappears on your shoulder, facing away from you.  
"Oh...okay."


	8. Your Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris tries a pretzel.   
> You understand him a little better.  
> Those two aren't related

The mall isn't super crowded today but there are still a lot of people. You immediately become aware of extra attention from passerby. They must be looking at Chris. You don't blame them, really. If you'd never seen a bitty, you'd be super curious. It doesn't really bother you but Chris probably hates it. It's hard to tell, though, since he's giving you the silent treatment. Well, time to employ a little bribery in the way of junk food.  
"Hey, you ever had a pretzel?" you ask your shoulder. Chris doesn't answer.   
_"No, Y/N, I haven't had a pretzel,"_ you answer in your best imitation of his voice.   
"Oh, would you like one?"   
_"Why yes I would! Thank you!"_   
"You're very welcome, Chris! You know, I LOVE pretzels. They're one of my favorite foods. I get 'em a lot in bars cause they're the only vegan thing. Well, except if they use butter. And sometimes it comes with a little dish of cheese sauce. Honestly-"  
"Oh my GOD will you shut it with the vegan shit?!" Chris snaps. You smirk. "So are you talking to me again?"  
Chris grumbles and looks away from you again.  
"But seriously, though," you say, "I'm gonna get us pretzels. You'll love 'em, I promise." You walk over to the line for "Beaner's Wieners." Chris mutters angrily to himself the whole way. Good. You'll take that over silence.  
  
You're almost to the front of the line when the old lady before you notices Chris for the first time. She gives a small start and mutters, "Goodness me." You feel your shoulder vibrate as Chris starts to growl.  
"Stop that!" you whisper, and smack him lightly on the foot. He pulls his leg back and glares daggers at you. Thankfully the ambient noise seems to have covered up his growling. The cashier calls "Next!" and the old lady shuffles forward.  
"No growling at old ladies!" you whisper-yell at Chris.  
"Why do I have to listen to you?" he answers less quietly. "It's not like you're my owner."  
"How about so we don't get kicked out??"  
"Tch. Whatever."  
"I'm serious! No growling at people!"  
"You're not my owner, so I don't have to listen to you!" Chris shouts, standing in defiance.  
"Well, how about this?" you say, very much not in a whisper. "Listen to me or you don't get food!"  
That shuts him up quickly.  
...too quickly.  
You crane your neck to look at the bitty on your shoulder. His little body is rigid with tension. Despite being bone it almost looks like his face is blanched. He looks...scared?  
"Whoa, Chris, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."  
He sits down. "I'll be good," he says quietly.  
Oh my God, you monster. The hell are you thinking, threatening to withhold food as punishment?? You idiot. You should know better than that. His sicko owner probably took away food all the time and did God knows what what else to him. Probably hit him all the time and locked him in a tiny cage and tied him up or... wait...  
oh mY GOD- the car seat! You are such an idiot!  
"HOLY SH-" you shout before catching yourself. You get a few weird looks from the people around you, including Chris. "Chris, I am so sorr-"  
"Next!" the cashier calls. You shuffle forward, distractedly.   
The disaffected youth working the register lifelessly recites the company spiel. "Welcome to 'Beaner's Wieners,' home of the best dogs in Niwoow. What can I get for you today?"  
"Yeah, um... Can I get two pretzels, please?" you say, still trying to look at Chris.  
"What flavor? We have plain, salt, cinnamon, and Beaner Chip."  
"Uh...what's 'Beaner Chip?'"  
"It's just chocolate chips but they're like, chopped up smaller."  
"Oh. Uh, two with salt, please."  
The youth walks away from the register, presumably to get the pretzels. You turn your neck as far as it will go, barely bringing the bitty on your shoulder into focus. "I am so fucking sorry, Chris," you whisper.  
He looks at you with a confused scowl. "What in hell are you talking about? And why do you keep saying 'please?' Ain't 'cha giving this loser money?"  
The youth reappears in the window and hands you two large, greasy pretzels wrapped in paper.  
"Anything else?" he says.  
"Yeah, two small fountain drinks, please."  
"Again with the 'please' shit..." Chris mutters.  
The youth hands you two empty cups.  
"Will that be all?"  
"Yeah."  
He punches a few keys on the register. "Total is $15.47"  
You take out your wallet and struggle to get your credit card out without dropping the pretzels. Ten seconds pass and you hear Chris say, "Oh for fuck's sake. I'll do it." A red glow surrounds the wallet and the credit card slides out. "Here," Chris says, floating the card in front of the now thoroughly affected youth.  
"Woah..." He says, staring at the glowing credit card. He notices Chris for the first time. "Aw, sick, it's an Edgy! I haven't seen one of those yet!" He smacks the other cashier on the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey Derek, check it out! It's an Edgy bitty!"  
"Whoa, really?" Derek moves over to the window. He stares, amazed. "Dude, that's crazy. Didn't they stop making them?"  
"Ta-ake...the da-amnnn...ca-a-ard..." Chris stutters, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion of keeping it suspended in the air.  
"Oh," the youth says, and grabs it. Chris sighs with relief as he releases the magic. The youth runs the card and hands it back to you with the receipt. You thank him and stuff it in a random pocket. You grab the two empty cups and head to the soda fountain.

"Well, well, well," you say while you walk. "Someone feels like showing off today."  
"Shut up. I couldn't take it anymore; watching you fumble around with those fat hands."  
"I'm going to assume that all human hands seem fat to tiny skeletons and not take that personally." You look at Chris and smile. "Thank you, by the way."  
"Sure... whatever..." he mutters, red lightly coloring his cheeks.  
You reach the soda fountain and look over a selection of soft drinks.   
"Well, after a performance like that, you must be thirsty. What do you want?"  
"Uh..." Chris considers the row of taps."I... don't know what any of these are."  
"Well, why don't you just pick the one with the label you like best? You can do more than one, if you want."  
"Really? Well then...uh... that one and... that one." He points at the taps and you fill up the cup. In hindsight maybe you didn't need to fill it all the way to the top. The cup is almost as tall as Chris. It might be a mistake to let someone his size have this much caffeine all at once. Did bitties get affected by caffeine? You'll have to remember to ask that at the store.  
You fill up your cup and head to a table, grabbing a couple condiment cups full of mustard on the way. Chris hops off your shoulder and lands on the plastic surface with a light thud. You grab a few napkins from the dispenser and spread them out, then set down a pretzel.  
"Here you go. Bone appetit."  
"Heh," Chris laughs once, dispassionately. Aw, man. You thought he'd like that more. Well, hopefully the food will cheer him up. _Come on pretzel, don't fail me now._  
You watch Chris rip off a piece of his pretzel and shove it into his mouth where it disappears to...somewhere. His expression changes, scowl replaced with pleasure. His eyelights dilate into huge circles as he grabs more pretzel and dunks it in the mustard. As he stuffs himself, you think you can hear him purring again. It's so adorable you can barely stand it. It takes a supreme effort to keep yourself in check and let him eat in peace. There will be time to tease him about it later when he's in a better mood; and after you've apologized for being such a massive jerk.

It only takes Chris a couple minutes to polish off the entire soft pretzel, an impressive feat considering it was the same size as him. He gives a satisfied sigh and lies down on the table, wallowing in satiation.  
Meanwhile, you've only taken a couple bites. Well, the pretzel seems to have done it's job; Chris is in a better mood now. Time to clear the air.  
"Hey...Chris?" you start carefully.  
"Mhmmph?" he grunts, lifting his head slightly to look at you over his belly.  
"I owe you a big apology. For earlier. I promise you, as long as you're with me, you're gonna have food. Even if you growl at people."  
Chris blinks. "Uh...okay..."  
"That's not an invitation to growl at people, mind you! I'm just saying, you're not gonna go hungry as a punishment if you do something bad. And I owe you a _huge_ apology for the car seat. I shouldn't have done that to you while you were asleep; I just didn't want to wake you up. And just so you know, the knots I used come undone super easily. All you have to do is pull one of the strings."  
Chris sits up and gives you a confused look. "Wait, really? Why? And why are you telling me?"  
"So you know for next time. I should have told you before we left... I'm so sorry."  
Chris frowned. "So let me get this straight: you're telling me you tie shitty knots and all I gotta do to undo 'em is pull a string?"  
"Yeah."  
Chris throws his arms up in the air. "Well what the fuck are you telling me for, idiot?! Now I know how to get out!"  
"I...Chris, I WANT you to get out. You're not a damn hostage. You can leave any time you want." _But please don't,_ a voice in your mind says.  
"Wha..." A range of expressions quickly flash across Chris' face, eventually settling on a dark scowl. "Oh," he says simply.  
"Uh... What's that look for? I said you're free, you don't belong to me. I'm not-"  
"Yeah, yeah," he sneers, "you're not my owner. I get it. No one in their right mind wants to own an Edgy. Whatever."  
"WHOA, WHOA hold up a minute!" you say, clarity hitting you like a brick. "Chris, I'm not _not_ your owner because I don't want you. I do! I know we've only been friends for like... twenty-six hours, but I really like having you around and I want to make sure you're taken care of."  
"That's what an owner is!" Chris shouts in frustration. "Make up your mind, woman!"  
You're about to retort when you realize it's really not important what Chris calls you. Let him think of you as his owner if it will make him happy. Apparently not being wanted by an owner is a really bad thing to bitties. Aw man, it must have crushed him when you laughed. Well, now you know how to fix that!  
"Okay, you know what?" you say, smacking your hands on the table for emphasis and making Chris jump. "Yeah, that's right. I'm your owner. I just decided it."  
"Oh you did, huh?" Chris sneers. "Why the sudden change of hea-HEY!"  
"Come here, you!" you say cheerfully as you pick up a very startled Chris and deposit him on your shoulder. "Now, stay up there like a good pet. We're off to the bitty store so I can dress you up!" You grab your pretzel and start walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do they find at the Bitty store?  
> What are some cool things Chris sees in the mall?  
> (No seriously, these aren't rhetorical questions. Please leave ideas in the comments.)


	9. Diary #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a couple weeks. I tend to write out of order, as the story comes to me. I've also been busy working on the dramatic reading for ["Songfell" (by Ikustioa)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348839), [UnderPuppets](https://underpuppets.tumblr.com), and practicing narration by dubbing ["His Name was Bob" (by lywelen)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728247) which you can [see here](https://youtu.be/nieeT1AglSU). It's an awesome bitty fic- if you like this one, you should definitely check it out.
> 
> I promise there will be more chapters. In the meantime, here is a little excerpt from Reader's diary.

Dear diary,  
Today, Chris and I came up with a plan to keep him safe from the dogs. We're going to get an air-horn from Earl's Party House tomorrow for Chris to use when the dogs get too close. I don't think Mila and Jun-Jun would do anything to Chris but it's for the best if they just learn to leave him alone. It's understandable that Chris feels unsafe around them, especially after the Smooches incident. I'm optimistic this will give him some peace of mind :D

Dear diary,  
Giving Chris the air-horn was a mistake. The second he got his bony little hands on it, he went mad with power. Rather than use it defensively, when the dogs got too close, he took the fight to them. He terrorized them for a solid five minutes, chasing them around the house, blaring the air-horn until it ran out of air; or at least, I thought it had. Apparently Chris had saved one more blast for when just when I was getting out of the shower. I have a lump on the back of my head from where it whacked into the edge of the sink. Needless to say, the air-horn was confiscated and destroyed. Everything in my left eye is a little fuzzy and my dogs might have PTSD. On the plus side, they're staying well clear of Chris. On the _plus_ plus side, I already know how I'm going to get back at him >:)


	10. Saga of the Stuffed Pig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your bitty explore the mall. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT MUTHAF*RS?! **THIS FIC AIN'T DEAD**  
>  I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update. I don't really have what you might call "self-control" or "self-discipline" and I pretty much just write only when I feel like it. So I can't promise _when_ I'll write more but I WILL finish this fic, dammit! I know what I want to happen, and I actually have a fair chunk written already. It's just not in order cause again, the self-discipline thing. I foresee the story having somewhere between 4-6 more chapters and it'll end in a satisfying way.

Chris is seriously starting to question your sanity; not that his opinion was super high to begin with. You say over and over that you're not his owner, then suddenly you say you are? The hell?!

Chris readjusts his grip on your shirt as you walk swiftly and purposefully through the mall. This place is incredible. There's so much he's never seen; so much he wants to ask about. Oh, and that pretzel. MhmmhMHMMM! Sandy wasn't kidding. Human food is better than Chris ever dreamed. He'd had scraps and gross old bits of stuff before, but nothing like this. And you bought it for him even though he made you mad...

Seriously, he can't understand you. You don't do things that make sense, and he doesn't know if it's because you're weird or just stupid. Probably both. Seriously, why bother tying someone up if you're gonna just tell them how to get out?? Idiot. Well, whatever. It's a relief to know he can still escape if he has to... unless you wise up and tie his hands, too.

Chris vigorously shakes his head, dispelling a plethora of very unwelcome memories. That's not gonna happen... probably. Sandy said that's not what most bitty owners do. That Sansy was so damn lucky. Chris would have given anything to be him, even just for a day; to have a real owner like bitties are supposed to.

...But now he does, doesn't he? He has a human who takes care of him like Sandy's family did; who feeds him and carries him around. He has a home now. Granted, it's infested with dogs, but it also has fake corndogs and hot water. Just thinking about it makes Chris feel warm. Maybe he'll get to sleep next to you again. That was amazing. The delicious relief of being right next to a strong human soul was heaven after months spent desperately trying to siphon off energy from whatever humans were nearby; only ever barely getting enough to heal. He's never recovered so quickly from an injury as he did yesterday. He didn't even realize it was possible to heal that fast.

It was so, SO tempting to feel safe. He had everything a bitty could want, right? Everything was finally okay.

  
And yet...

  
Chris wouldn't- no, _couldn't_ let himself completely believe it. No matter what, he refuses to succumb to that stupid in-built bitty instinct to be a happy, trusting little pet, no matter how much it hurts to fight. This was all too good to be true, and like hell was he gonna be caught off guard.

Chris gripped the shirt tighter, tiny claws leaving holes in the fabric.

No. Reality would catch up soon and when it did, he'd be ready.

\------------

  
  
The bitty store is on the opposite side of the mall from where you parked. Genius. Good job, you. At least the walk is interesting. You haven't been to the Niwoow mall for a long time and you forgot how much cool stuff there is here. The best part is Chris' reaction; everything is new to him. His tiny awestruck face is adorable. He keeps giving you nervous looks, like he really wants to ask questions but isn't sure if he'll get in trouble for it. No problem. You're great at rambling at length without prompting or encouragement. You start talking about things as you pass them; like an enthusiastic guide extemporating on the fauna of an exotic wildlife preserve to the pleasure of interested tourists who paid far too much to be there.

You pass a clown making balloon animals for children and briefly consider getting one for Chris. You ultimately decide not to because one; there's no way that thing isn't getting popped, and two; that would necessitate getting within melee distance of the clown, and like hell were you gonna make that mistake again. You also pass an electronics store selling RC cars and make a mental note to get one for Chris later. You'll attach the remote to the car so he can sit on it and drive around. It's a wildly irresponsible move on your part but you're pretty sure he'd absolutely love it.

Various shops and other stuff pass by and you give a brief description of each to Chris.

"And this...is a gumball machine," you say with a dramatic flourish of your hands, as though unveiling a revolutionary product at a tech conference. Chris looks at the big plastic tank full of gumballs with fascination.

"Woah... How does it work?"

"Observe," you say, and search in your pocket for change. You find none. "Uh... I don't have any quarters... aHA!" You spot a change machine nearby and briskly walk over to it. "To operate the gumball machine, we need money in the form of coins. This magical device takes paper bills and spits out an equivalent amount of change. Watch closely." You take out a rather crumpled dollar bill from your wallet and feed it into the machine. It draws the bill in then spits it out a few seconds later.

"Uh... did I miss something or is that supposed to happen?" Chris asks. You frown and aggressively smooth out the bill, then feed it into the machine again. It holds it for a few more seconds this time, then spits it out again.

"God damnit," you mutter, and search in your wallet for a crisper bill.

"What happened?" Chris asks.

You don't have any more singles so you fish out a decent looking five dollar bill and put it in the machine. "Ughh. Okay, so the machine works by taking a picture of the money and comparing it to a reference to see if it's a real dollar bill, right? Well, sometimes if the paper is too crumply or it has rips and stuff, the machine won't accept i-AAARGH!"

The insolent machine spits out your five dollar bill. You aggressively jam it back in. "It's fine! Take it you stupid thing!"

"Uh... it's okay if we don't get gumballs," Chris says nervously from your shoulder.

"No! That means we're letting it win! I'm getting a damn gumball if it's the last thing I do!" You take out the only other paper bill in your wallet, which is a ten. "Machine! I demand thee give me quarters!" you shout authoritatively as you feed it in. After a pregnant pause, you hear the sound of coins falling into the collection slot and laugh triumphantly. "Ha ha! Thought you could defeat me, did you?!" The machine finishes dispensing coins and you scoop a substantial pile of quarters into your hand. Oh boy. This is...a lot of change. Two quarters slip out of your grasp and clink on the ground. You curse and start to bend over when the coins float upwards, surrounded by red light. You glance at your shoulder and see Chris concentrating hard; holding out his boney little hands as he guides the coins back on to the pile in your hands.

"That is AWESOME," you say. "I can't believe you can do freaking magic. Thanks!"

Chris gives a small "Hmph," and turns his slightly reddened face away. "It's nothin'."

You walk back to the gumball machine and buy six gumballs. Might as well; you've got a bunch of annoying change to use up now. Chris watches as the gumballs roll down a big plastic spiral before landing at the collection hole. Yeah. That's a sentence. Sure. You hand him a gumball and have the pleasure of watching it all disappear at once as he barely manages to shove the entire thing into his mouth. You expect to see him chewing but instead he just closes his mouth and looks at you.

"That was... okay I guess? Didn't taste like much."

"Well that's cause you're supposed to chew it, silly." You pop two gumballs in your mouth to demonstrate. After a minute, you blow a bubble. Being able to blow enormous gum-bubbles is something you're proud of, but it is also frequently your undoing. The bubble pops and lands all over your face.

Chris almost falls off your shoulder from how hard he's laughing. "Hahahaha! You look like such a fuckin' idiot right now!"

You peel off the gum and throw it in a trash can. You're glad you put your hair in a ponytail to make it easier for Chris to sit on your shoulder, because otherwise you'd be pulling bits of gum out of it right now.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up," you grumble good-naturedly. You hand him another gumball. "Let's see how easy it is for you to do it, huh?"

It turns out that not only is it not easy for Chris to blow bubbles, it's actually physically impossible. Before he can chew the gum, it gets absorbed by that black void thing in the back of his mouth where everything he eats goes. Apparently that's how bitties digest stuff. At least it answers your question of how a tiny skeleton without any kind of stomach or anything can eat solid food. Still, he enjoys munching on a couple of the gumballs while you chew up the rest.

The next diversion from your purpose manifests in the form of a claw game with the most adorable stuffed pig you've ever seen.

"EEEEE!" you shriek, startling the bitty sitting on your shoulder as you run over to it. You press your hands to the acrylic tank and stare with childish longing.

"What the hell?" Chris asks, not angry so much as thoroughly confused at the sudden direction his mount has taken him.

"It's a skill crane," you say. "You put in money and try to use the claw to remove prizes." You point to the pig, which is sitting on top of several other stuffed animals and looks temptingly easy to grab. "See that pink one?"

Chris peers into the tank. "Uh... Yeah?"

"I must have it," you declare. "Besides, I've got to use up all this change in my pocket," you say, jingling the coins noisily for emphasis. It's not a very defensible excuse, but self-control has never been your strongest skill. No, that slot is reserved for _skill crane._ You mentally add the justification that this will also give Chris the chance to see a claw game in action.

The machine is $1 per try. You count out the appropriate coins and push them into the slot. After the fourth quarter, the machine starts playing music and the claw controls light up.

"Alright, so you see, you use this joystick to control the claw," you explain as you maneuver the crane over the pig. "You have to line it up to land on what you want to catch. And even then, sometimes it doesn't work because the person who owns the machine sets it so the claw doesn't close very hard." You leave the controls for a moment to walk to the other side of the machine and judge the alignment of the claw from a different angle. "But hopefully, it'll catch it. The pig looks super easy to grab."

Satisfied with the position of the claw, you cross your fingers and hit the button to drop it. You hold your breath as the machine lowers the claw directly on to the pig. Perfect. Now close! CLOSE, DAMN YOU! "C'mon..." you mutter nervously, "almost got it..." After a suspenseful pause, the claw closes and begins to lift. The metal teeth drag across the stuffed pig, frustratingly not pinching it hard enough to catch. As the claw raises off the pig, however, it catches the plastic loop of the tag on its ear. The pig dangles from the claw as it slowly moves towards the prize chute, swinging perilously. Just as it looks like it's going to make it, the loop slips and the pig falls back into the tank. The music stops as the claw pops open above the chute, releasing nothing.

"God DAMNIT!" you shout, stamping your foot in righteous rage.

Chris, despite his only recently obtained knowledge of claw games, fully empathizes with your wrath- and then some. "What the FUCK?! The fuck is this shit?! You had it!"

"I know, right?! It was so close! I'm gonna try again."

You angrily stuff four more quarters in the machine and the music starts again. You position the claw over the new location of the pig, which is now in a less favorable spot. As you drop the claw, you can see that it's hopeless. The pig is too close to the wall of the chute and even if the claw wasn't rigged to close softly, the wall keeps it from lowering directly on to the stuffed animal like before. The metal teeth lightly brush the pig before closing on nothing and returning to the starting position.

You bang your head against the clear acrylic of the tank in frustration, not hard enough to hurt but enough that a furious Chris almost falls off your shoulder. He catches himself by grabbing on to your shirt, little bony claws scratching you a little as he digs into the fabric. It does little to interrupt the tiny skeleton's furious tirade.

"This is BULLSHIT!" Chris screams. He gives the machine a kick with one foot, bones making a tiny *thunk* on the tank. "Who the hell made this piece of crap!? What a rip-off! There's no way to win this! It just sucks up money from idiots!" He turns to look at you impatiently. "Well? You gonna try again or what?!"

You had apprehensively been scanning the surroundings to see if people had noticed the angry shouting, but you return your attention at the sound of his demanding tone.

"What? You saw what happened; it's pointless." You placed a hand on the wall of the tank, staring longingly at your heart's devotion, just out of reach. Suddenly, you have an idea. "Hey, Chris, can you magicky-float the pig out?"

Chris scowls. "Not when there's a big wall in the way, idiot."

"Hey, I don't know how your magic works, cut me a break!"

"'Cut you...a break?'" Chris frowns in confusion at your malformed idiom.

"Yeah, give me some slack, whatever," you shrug. You give the stuffed pig a last, remorseful glance, then pull your hand off the tank and start walking away. "Sigh. Alright, on to the bitty store."

"What?!" Chris stands up, one hand grabbing onto your hair for balance. "You can't just give up! It's not fair- you had it!"

"I know but what am I supposed to do? You saw it, the claw can't get to it now."

You see a look of stubborn determination cross Chris' face. "No. We're getting that pig." In the blink of an eye, he's not on your shoulder anymore. You startle and frantically look around for him.

"Chris? Where'd you- oh NO!" Your eyes fall on the prize collection slot of the machine just in time to see Chris disappear behind the flap.

You start running back to the machine when a deep voice says from behind you, "Excuse me, ma'am, everything all right over here?" You turn around to find a man dressed in a mall security guard uniform looking at you.

"Uhhhh...." you say, nervously shuffling so he has to look away from the claw machine to talk to you. "Yeah. Yup! Doing great! How are you? How's your day going?"

The guard lifts a disinterested eyebrow. "Can't complain. Heard some shouting over here. Something wrong?"

You resist the urge to glance at the machine. "Yeah, sorry, I just...was on the phone?"

You hear a loud clunk, and the security guard turns his head to look at the claw game. "Yeah! Got in a big argument with my boyfriend!" you say quickly, trying to distract him. "I had it on speakerphone! My phone's speakerphone is super loud. Which is great cause on my last phone the speaker sucked. Couldn't hear anything. Argued about it with my dad all the time, cause he bought me the phone as a graduation present like he promised, but it was, like, the cheapest one and I was, like, 'you cheapskate' and he says 'don't look a gift phone in the mouth' and I'm like-"

The security guard waves his hand, cutting off your panicked rant. "Yeah, whatever. Just keep it down. If there's no problem, I'll be on my way." He starts to walk away and you relax. Your relief, however, is short lived.

Apparently the claw machine has some kind of anti-theft alarm and whatever Chris did managed to set it off. You look back to see a panicked Chris struggling to stay afloat in a sea of cheap stuffed animals.

"What the hell??" the mall cop says, reversing directions and walking back towards the machine. You frantically try to think of a way to distract him. For lack of any actual idea, you do the only thing that comes to mind and throw yourself to the ground in front of the security guard, clutching your leg and shouting in pain like a soccer player trying to convince the referee that they are grievously injured.

"OW, MY LEG!" you cry loudly, saying anything to distract him. "The floor is wet and I tripped! I'm gonna sue you!"

The mall cop, who does not get paid enough to deal with this, sighs in exasperation as you roll around on the completely dry floor. "Ma'am, please calm down. I'm going to call medical and get someone out here." The guard pulls out a walky-talky and speaks into it.

While he's distracted, you risk a glance back at the claw machine and see Chris frantically tugging on the pig, which has gotten stuck on the flap of plastic that covers the prize bin. Shit. You don't want the guard to see that.

"My leeeeeg," you bemoan loudly. "It hurts so bad! Can you get some ice?"

"Ma'am, medical should be here in a few minutes, please stay calm."

"Please! I need ice! It hurts so bad!" You point towards the food court. "

"Ma'am, I don't-"

"Ice! Please, I beg you!"

With an exhausted sigh, the security guard turns to leave. "Alright, stay here; medical's on their way."

As soon as he's gone, you scramble to your feet and run over to where Chris is now standing proudly with the pig in his arms. It's almost as big as he is. You scoop him up and power-walk away before the security guard comes back. Once you're out of sight, you relax, letting out a deep breath.

"Okay," you sigh, "Let's not do that again."

You consider the adorable pig and equally adorable bitty in your arms. Chris looks nervous; happy to have defeated the claw machine but not sure if he's in trouble.

"I... I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Honestly, Chris could commit murder and you'd still forgive him. Even if you wanted to, it's impossible to be mad at the little guy when he looks at you like that.

"Shh, no, it's okay, Chris, really." You smile at him. "Thanks for getting me the pig. You're my hero."

Without really thinking about it, you reach up with one thumb and gently stroke the side of his head. He freezes at the touch, and for a moment you worry you've pushed it too far. But then he slowly starts to relax, leaning into your thumb ever-so-slightly. You stroke his tiny little skull again and he closes his eyes. After a few more seconds of petting, you feel him vibrating a tiny bit as he quietly starts to purr.

Huh.

Moving slowly, you sit down on a nearby bench. You put the pig down next to you, freeing your other hand to gently hold Chris from both sides. He's not very big; a little shorter than a Barbie Doll, but significantly more stocky. He leans harder into your moving fingers, purring happily. With your other hand, you run a finger down his little back and he practically melts into your palms.

The sounds of the mall slowly fade into the background like white noise. For a few quiet minutes it's just you, your bitty, and a small stuffed pig.  
  


  
  
EXTRA BONUS BIT THINGY  
  
Eventually, you get rid of all the extra change in a charity fountain. Chris has a lot of fun using magic to ping quarters off the heads of the statues in the pond, which cracks you up. You hope nobody notices; your heart can't take another run-in with mall security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next Chapter: Bitty Store_


End file.
